


Rock of the Gods

by somnivagrantTraviatus



Category: Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 19:25:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16414451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somnivagrantTraviatus/pseuds/somnivagrantTraviatus
Summary: Set postgame. Fifteen years after the meteor fell, and five years after it fell again, Sissel and Jowd find something important that was left behind in Temsik Park.Something important finds Sissel, too.





	Rock of the Gods

**Author's Note:**

> So hey, have you ever noticed how many times the game calls Sissel a god?

It begins, as it did fifteen years and a lifetime ago, with the meteor.

Alma mentions taking Kamilla to the park, and Sissel watches Jowd pause, carefully not flinching. He takes the split-second to hop to the detective’s core.

“You can’t keep them away forever.”

Jowd sighs. “I know. I just wish…”

“Yeah.”

The shard nestled against Sissel’s heart pulses gently – the closest thing he has to a heartbeat. He blinks. “Do you think the meteor is still there? ...the rest of it, I mean.”

Jowd frowns. “I hope not. The last thing we need is more ghosts, no offense.”

No, Sissel agrees. Although the idea of an army of ghost squirrels is amusing.

“Now that’s an image.” Jowd laughs, the dark look fading from his face. “Think they’d talk, like you and Missile? Or would they keep chittering about acorns?”

“I don’t know. Maybe both?” He squints – the cat version of a laugh. “Either way, we should figure out what to do. We can’t stay in the ghost world forever.”

“No, you’re right.” Jowd sighs, pensive again. “If I keep Kamilla and Alma occupied, can you check out the impact site? I know you probably won’t be able to do much if it is still there, but…”

“...better to know before making any plans,” Sissel concludes. “Yeah, I can do that.”

So as Jowd and Alma watch Kamilla on the swings, Sissel slips from Jowd’s badge and into the trees. It’s not like he approves of littering, but the trash scattered in the grass certainly makes it easier to get where he needs to.

As he gets closer to the park entrance, his spirit begins to thrum, deep, heavy pulses that only get deeper as he closes in. It should feel scary. Instead it feels welcoming, almost. Soothing, like a mother’s purr.

(A warm body, large against his; damp fur between his ears… his memories of then are hazy and vague. When he thinks of safety, he remembers a head full of blue.)

There aren’t any cores close enough to the meteor for him to reach. He should turn back, should tell Jowd what he found and come back with a set of legs, but the vibration settles gently in his soul and urges him forward. Entranced, he stretches out a paw…

It’s not his ghost tricks he reaches out with, this time. It’s something totally new, something that washes the world white.

There’s someone there.

The energy she radiates makes the meteor’s pulses look dull and lifeless as a corpse. Her pattern is different than its spiraling waves, too, thousands of circles spinning every which way together. It’s dizzying; he only realizes how entranced he is when she addresses him.

_Hello, little one._

He tries to respond, but talking must work differently like this. All he manages is a muddled _greeting/caution/question?_

She laughs, or he thinks she does – all chiming bells and melting snow. When his tail thumps in irritation, she sends a veritable tide of _amusement/peace/tranquility – be calm. Clear your mind,_ she says. _It is not words you seek, but the idea of them._

 _?_ he sends. _Like this?_

Amusement, again, and, strangely, pride.

_Who are you?_

She turns, surveying the park. _This place is called “Temsik,” is it not? I have many names, but I suppose you might call me Etaf._

_Where are we?_

_Where gods dwell._ She faces him again. _Will you come home, little one?_

Her gaze is an ocean, pressing down on the breached hull of the _Yonoa_ and seeping in. He doesn't understand, not fully, but Lynne and Kamilla and Jowd, even Yomiel – he might never see any of them again if he steps wrong now.

The amusement in her aura tinges with sorrow, but also understanding. _I see. You love them very much._

Protective, steadfast Jowd. Exuberant Cabanela, with his core of steel. Kamilla, bright and inventive and with her family at last. Yomiel, full of regret but determined to move forward. Cheerful, unflappable Lynne, his only lead in a night that lasted a decade. Missile, the brave little warrior who gave everything for their happy ending. Even the others, like those detectives or the strange young man with the leaflets – no, _every_ person he'd met, and more besides. _They’re interesting,_ he admits, buoyant with _curiosity/protectiveness/love/ **mine.**_

 _I see,_ she says again. The weight of her gaze fades, a complicated swirl of _amusement/pride/nostalgia/sorrow/love_ rolling through her. _I will be there,_ she tells him, and it could be a reassurance, or a promise, or a warning. _Everywhere, always, but also here._

The white of the world begins to seep away as she turns from him once more. _We will meet again._

_Wait!_

Her aura _twists_ , circles squishing their way into what whiteness is left, and he winces. It feels like she’s a gallon of water trying to force itself through a shrinking pinhole in his head: uncomfortably pressurized and only getting more so. _That rock/bad/you remove?_

Her answering bells fade with the last of the whiteness. _Surely._

Returning to the Ghost World is like getting up after a long day of corporeal napping – he’s got pins and needles _everywhere,_ even in his whiskers. When he twitches them, they buzz with static. (The way he jumps at that makes him glad he came unaccompanied.)

A missing can gives him some trouble coming back, but he finds Jowd easily enough. The detective’s shoulders are still stiff under that big green coat, but they’ve lost most of this morning’s tension, and more of it seeps from him as Sissel moves to his core.

“You’re back,” Jowd remarks, relief in his thought-voice. “What took you so long? I thought I’d have to make an excuse to come find you.”

“Huh?” Sissel blinks. “I had a weird conversation, but…” It wasn’t that long, was it?

“Afraid so, Sissel. Look at the sun – it’s late afternoon.”

A flicker to the living world and back confirms it. The park’s shadows have moved and lengthened, and the light streaming in through the trees has taken on a distinctly orange hue. “I guess that conversation took longer than I thought.”

Jowd’s eyes sharpen. “Who did you meet? Another ghost?”

“I don’t think so?” He frowns. “I – she was wearing white, I think? I can’t really remember. She was putting off so much energy, it was hard to think straight.”

“Hm.” Jowd strokes his beard. “Did you talk to her about the meteor?”

“Yeah. Well, sort of anyway.” Sissel frowns. “We didn’t exactly talk. We kind of… exchanged the idea of words? But yeah, I think she agreed to take care of it.”

“Sissel. Are you telling me you let a total stranger walk off with the meteor?”

“...”

“...”

“...oops?” She seemed trustworthy… but maybe that wasn’t the smartest thing he could’ve done.

A pause stretches between them. Then Jowd laughs.

“Well, that’s one way to get rid of the problem! Did you get a name, at least? Maybe we can track her down, make sure she isn’t using it for anything.”

“She said her name was… Etaf, I think.”

Jowd raises an incredulous eyebrow, but Sissel’s expression doesn’t change. “Really.”

“That’s what she said,” Sissel confirms.

Jowd whistles, one corner of his mouth quirking up in a strange expression half-hidden by his beard. “Well, aren’t you lucky. It isn’t everybody who gets to meet a god.”

“What’s a god?”

“It’s sort of like a spirit,” Jowd explains, “but stronger. Usually they have one area they have a lot of power over. Etaf is one name for the god of fate.”

Fate, huh? Sissel narrows his eyes. “Isn’t ‘Etaf’ just ‘fate’ spelled backwards?”

Jowd laughs. “I guess the gods aren’t very creative. If she really was Etaf, though, the meteor’s as safe with her as anywhere else. At least it isn’t our problem anymore.”

Sissel thinks about it – about gods, and about his conversation with one – all the way home, all through dinner, and through most of the night. When the clock strikes two, he slips out to his favorite nighttime perching spot, then into the Ghost World, and stretches out a paw.

The world stays red, but there’s a hint of white just out of reach. And she did say she was everywhere.

 _Hey, Etaf,_ he says/thinks/feels, looking up at the moon-bright sky. _I don’t really know what you were talking about earlier – not yet. But… you asked if I was going to come home._

_I am home. These people are my home, and I don’t think that’s going to change. But that doesn’t mean I can’t visit. And I already have three homes, so… maybe wherever you want me to go can be home, too._

Distantly, a bell chimes.


End file.
